Finding the Answers
by Channel D
Summary: He has shot and killed a man. Now Tim must go through a Critical Incident Stress Debriefing to help him deal with it. This fic refers to the episode Probie. Written for the NFA Debriefing Challenge. Oneshot.


**Finding the Answers**

By ChannelD

Written for the NFA _Debriefing Challenge_, situation 1:  
_Situation:_ Defusing of Tim McGee following his shooting a man in _Probie_.  
The aim of the challenge is to fill in what would likely happen in a Critical Incident Stress Debriefing. I chose situation #1, the defusing of an NCIS character following a traumatic event in an actual episode.

_Rating_: T

_Setting_: NCIS HQ

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_Disclaimer:_ I own nothing of NCIS; not one iota.

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The small third-floor conference room was cheery, in its rather worn, needing-a-fresh-coat of paint way. There was almost never enough money in the budget to rescue government offices once _threadbare_ set in, she'd heard. Occasionally there would be a flash of cash and facilities would be updated. But then things peeled, scraped, scratched, chipped. It was the type of room that could make one feel at home if one spent a lot of time in it or one of its neighbors: walls the warm orange that wrapped the building's interior, chairs moderately comfortable, windows with partially-open horizontal wooden blinds looking out on the early morning. _But I wouldn't want to be the one being diffused in a shabby room,_ thought Gwen Little Bear, psychologist. 

She'd have to do the best she could. This was her client's home turf; he would be more comfortable here than in her office across the District.

The door opened and a man—older than she'd expected—looked in, then back, over his shoulder, gesturing. So this was not her client. In came another man, much younger, his face pained, guilty?, uncertain—that was her immediate analysis. The older man departed, closing the door behind him.

She rose and extended her hand, smiling. "Gwen Little Bear, sent here by the EAP."

"Tim McGee," he said, shaking her hand. "The Employee Assistance Program? I've never had to use it. I really don't know why I'm here, in fact." He looked like he wanted to run. She motioned him to a seat.

"It's standard for people who've been involved in a traumatic event. No one expects you to bounce back to normal right away."

He was quite obviously trying to hold himself together; to be strong. She smiled again and took out a notebook and pen; then put the standard stick pen back and replaced it with her favorite pen. This young man was about her son's age; she'd try to do a little extra for him. "May I call you 'Tim'?"

At his nod, she went on. "This shooting happened last night? Tell me just what happened, and how you were involved." At his reluctant look, she added, "This is in strictest confidence. This is an aid for you, not for your agency. No one gets to see my report without your permission."

At last he sighed. "It's not that I have anything to hide. I just…"

He swallowed. "My team was on a protection detail for an event downtown with the CNO—that's the Chief of Naval Operations. He'd had a death threat. I was out in the alley, where his car would exit from the hotel parking lot. I saw…"

"What did you see, Tim?"

"There, there was a car that wasn't supposed to be there. We'd cleared the alley previously. There were…men, men arguing. Two men, I think. I, I saw a weapon. I identified myself as a federal officer. They, one of them, shot at me. I saw the flash."

"And what did you do?"

He shifted uncomfortably in his chair. "Listen, ma;am, Doctor? I already told Gibbs, my supervisor, what happened. Why do I have to tell you all this? I'd really like to get back to work and solve this case…"

"Not just yet. Now what did you do when you saw the flash?"

"I…returned fire. And I killed a man."

- - - - -

He'd risen, and started pacing. "I've never killed anyone before. I—I've always known this would happen someday, the risk goes with the job, but I –I guess this sounds stupid—I still was hoping that 'someday' would never come…"

"What was the first thought in your mind after you fired, Tim?"

"My first thought? When I saw him fall?" He laughed, hollowly. "That this wasn't a game I was playing online, or a movie I was watching. It was something I'd done to another human being. Dammit, _I killed a man!!!_ We're not put on this earth to kill one another!" He sat down, then got up and paced a bit more, then sat down again.

"What bothers you the most about that?"

He jumped up, and looked at her, incredulous. "What bothers me about _killing someone?!_ What kind of a question is _that??!!_ You mean, besides the fact that it goes against what I was brought up to do, what my church taught me to believe in?!"

"Not exactly. What bothers you the most about this situation…other than the outcome?"

He sat back down and thought, leaning forward, tucked into himself. "That I don't know who the guy was, or why he fired at me. That there should have been some way that I could have prevented it. Even if he was scum, I'd rather see him behind bars than dead at my hands.…If I had a wish, it would have been that I could have crept up on them, gotten the drop on them, arrested them, and kept them out of the way while the CNO came through. No one would have gotten hurt."

"How possible would that have been?"

"Not very," he said, sadly.

_- - - - -_

She drew two bottles of water from a small cooler and handed him one. ""How did you feel at the scene after the incident? How were you emotionally, physically? Were you in control?"

He stiffened. "Well, I have to be in control. That's part of my job!" Banging his fist on the table, again he rose, fury painting his face. _"Why are you torturing me like this??"_ Abruptly, he got up and walked out, shaking.

She continued jotting in her notebook. She would give him twenty minutes before notifying Jenny Shepard that her agent hadn't completed the defusing.

He was back in less than five minutes, now humble, and sat down with a thump. "Sorry, sorry. I ran into my boss and the Director. They told me I _have_ to finish up with you or get written up… You're a psychologist? Tell me; how do I get through this?" He covered his face with his hands, rocking with silent sobs..

_This is probably the first time he's allowed himself to grieve._ "By opening up. By talking about it."

"I, I thought I would lose my mind back there, in that alley. There was no time to decompress—"

"A shame."

"Yeah, well, that's how the job goes. We had to clean up the scene, look for the bullets, our medical examiner had to take away the body…I had my job to do."

"Your job is important to you."

"I just want to do what's expected of me."

"And you showed up here today for a day of work. Did you know you were going to be having a defusing this morning?"

"No, ma'am."

"Were you able to remember details of the incident clearly?"

He swallowed. "Yes. Maybe. I couldn't remember more than the first two numbers of the vehicle plate. And I'm not 100 per cent sure of my account. But I tried. They taught us some memory tricks at FLETC."

"So do you feel your mental process was working okay? No thought disturbances, spacing out, impulsive behavior?"

"Thought disturbances then? No. I couldn't let myself lose control on the job. Once I got home, and tried to sleep? Plenty."

"Nightmares?"

"Some. Mostly, trying to fall asleep, but reliving the scene, over and over. I couldn't get free of it."

"Why didn't you take the day off work?"

He squinted at her. "If they give days off work as a reward for killing someone, I'm not aware of it."

_- - - - -_

She called for a break and stepped out onto into the hall to call her office on another matter, after asking him to stay in the room. His nerves were too raw for him to be talking with anyone else just yet.

The call went to voice mail, causing her to frown at her cell phone. Her thoughts returned to Tim._ He's going to want me to cure him. It's always difficult to tell people that that's not what this session is about; that instead it's to steer them onto a path that might allow them to cope for now, and maybe cure themselves, in time._

He was standing, looking out the window when she returned. Only when she called his name did he turn; the misery still evident on his face._ A person with a good soul; feeling guilt. I wonder if he's internalized anything I've said? Some people just don't._

"Tim, do you have any stress-coping mechanisms? You must have been through stressful situations before on this job—how long have you been here?"

"About two years. The most stressful thing is dealing with my coworkers." A wry smile lit his face and then was gone.

_Aha. They may not be helping him here._ "These were people onsite at the time of the incident? You've talked about this with them?"

"Somewhat. Mostly in job technical terms. Recovering the, the dead man's weapon and the bullets and such."

_He's flinching; holding back. Yes, the coworkers aren't helping._ "Your coworkers have more time in than you do?"

"Yes, by a couple years."

"And have they had to kill people?"

He nodded, then angrily pulled the blinds up tightly, flooding the room with sunlight. "I'm in the wrong line of work. I can't be like them; callous. I can't do this anymore."

Her voice was soft. "Tim, the people who hired you saw potential in you. Few people who apply for the special agent job get in. I think you're capable of doing the job."

"How?" He wiped his eyes.

"By getting past this point. By working with your team, to the extent that your boss lets you get involved, to uncover all the facts. Knowledge is power, as they say. If you have family here, comfort in them. And in your friends as well. Let them show you that you are loved. Allow yourself to feel. It's not unmanly or weak; you've been through a horrible experience. You need time to heal. What else do you think can help you cope? Time off, maybe, to pursue a hobby?"

Finishing the last of his water, Tim grimaced. "No, no time off; I'll go nuts alone. I think just keeping busy here at work."

"Despite coworkers? Do they aggravate you?"

"Every day! But I still mostly like them. If I were really in a bad way, they'd be there for me."

"Well, that's good. Keeping your day as normal as possible should help."

A laugh, then. "I don't think there's such a thing as a 'normal' day here. But I'll try that."

"Other things that may help include getting exercise, allowing yourself to relax, not drinking caffeinated beverages before bedtime, writing down your thoughts."

His voice became a whisper. "And if those don't work? What should I do? What if I can't hold up?

"You will."

"But I feel so guilty…_I killed a man."_

"And that's sometimes necessary in your job. If you don't start feeling better in a few days, don't be afraid to ask for professional or spiritual help. Let me give you my card."

"Thank you, ma'am."

"Do you feel capable of returning to work, Tim? I can see that you get time off, if you feel it would help."

"No, ma'am, thanks. I think if I can find the answers to this case, it will help me more than time off would. And I will. Find the answers. Thanks."

- END -


End file.
